


Constructive Interference

by kenobiapologist



Series: Dynamic Disturbances (A Fix-it AU) [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Bar Neth: land of agriculture and deception, Botany, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Undercover Missions, inspired by clone wars gambit stealth, mysterious poison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenobiapologist/pseuds/kenobiapologist
Summary: The Jedi Council has dispatched Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker to the desert planet of Bar Neth to infiltrate a gang of smugglers. First identified by Jedi Knight Aayla Secura, this group is heavily armed and responsible for the loss of millions of tons of exported minerals in the Outer Rim territories. Separatist interference is suspected. Kenobi and Skywalker must uncover the truth or risk losing Republic allies during the crucial Outer Rim Sieges. What they discover is a tangle of lies and unethical scientific experimentation that could put whole planets at risk of total collapse.All the while, Obi-Wan and Anakin are trying to bridge the gap that has grown between them. Anakin and Padmé aren't on speaking terms after what happened with Rush Clovis. Secrets between the three threaten to tear them apart, but the galaxy needs their help now more than ever.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Dynamic Disturbances (A Fix-it AU) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148447
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Apologetic Resilience

**Author's Note:**

> This story originally started as a shipping fic a couple years ago, but I've come to love the plot so much that I've adapted it into a more canon-compliant (relationship-wise) version for those of you not interested in the romance aspect. Many parts are the same between the two, but I've altered certain scenes accordingly. If you're a fan of the ship version, you might enjoy the slight changes I've made that put a twist on Obi-Wan and Anakin's tumultuous relationship.
> 
> All in all, it's still a fix-it fic that guides Anakin to make different life choices by getting him on the same page as the ones he loves.

Obi-Wan presses his back up against a towering pile of crates, his lips pulled up into a snarl as he moves himself out of the line of fire. His skin is caked in a layer of blue-brown sand and his hair sticks to the sweat that beads on his forehead. His clothes sport a collection of scorched holes and caked blood to match the blaster wounds he’ll be feeling once the adrenaline wears off. The smoking blaster pistol in his hand draws a short huff from the man beside him.

“Yours too?” Anakin says as they lock eyes. Anakin’s curls are escaping from the sun-bleached hat he’d tucked them back into and his cheeks are stained with carbon dust. Both of their chests are heaving to catch their breath in spite of the thick smoke that rolls from the exploded mining droid to their left. Anakin’s leather jacket has pockets overflowing with scraps of wire and steel tools he had stolen from the basement of the dull steel building from which they were fleeing. Anakin breaks Obi-Wan’s gaze to fiddle with his pistol. With a tug from the Force, the casing comes right off the side and exposes the weapon’s components.

A red streak whips by just in Obi-Wan’s line of sight and he crouches down, pulling Anakin with him.

“I knew we should have upgraded the plasma cartridges in these pistols before we agreed to leave Taris,” he hears Anakin whine. “This isn't going to be much of a gunfight if I have to — ”

A warning from the Force has Obi-Wan’s stomach lurching. “Anakin, we have to move. Now!”

The man hesitates, looking down at his dismantled weapon. “I can't cover you, Master. This hunk of metal needs fifteen seconds to cool down, at least!” Panic flashes across his face as he reaches to slam the pieces of his blaster pistol back together.

“We don't have that,” Obi-Wan’s voice wavers as he wraps his arms around Anakin and braces himself with the Force as a detonator explodes on the opposite side of their wooden shield.

The world is silent around him save the ringing in his ears. There may or may not be a piece of shrapnel lodged into his calf, and Anakin’s mouth is moving but he’s never been good at lip reading in military situations. He just blinks, trying to get the silt out of his eyes enough to see what is happening.

Obi-Wan’s movements are slow, as if he’s still on Taris, wading in the muck of the swamps. The effort to shield both of them from an explosion at close range has left him weaker than he’d like to admit. Luckily, Anakin is on his feet, dragging Obi-Wan by the wrist as he takes off for the sand-blasted warehouse behind them. He can feel the life flowing through their bond, soothing the screams of pain from his right leg. He doesn’t have the time to take stock of how bad it is yet, so he allows Anakin’s light to numb it while they’re still connected.

A thermal detonator blasts the remnants of the crates into charred splinters, sending a shock wave that threatens to take his knees out. Anakin’s hand tightens around his wrist, refusing to let him fall.

“We need to get out of here,” he shouts, although he can’t hear the sound of his own voice.

“You think?” Anakin scoffs, his blaster hissing violently as he knocks back a masked smuggler. Obi-Wan sees the glint in Anakin’s eyes when they spot a rusty speeder parked near the warehouse. When he turns around, the question doesn’t have to leave his mouth before Obi-Wan’s lips draw into an exasperated smile.

“Give me your blaster. I’ll draw their fire.”

A dented pistol gets tossed in his general direction as Anakin takes off for the vehicle, not even looking back.  _ Where is this haste when I ask him to report to the Council _ , Obi-Wan huffs in amusement. He steps to the side to avoid an incoming blaster bolt, letting himself lean against the side of a decommissioned excavator droid.

Obi-Wan lets his mind wander as he sends some fire back toward the smugglers’ ground-car, opting to immobilize them until Anakin can hotwire their means of escape.  _ Aayla was right about this group. They’re not working alone. No ordinary criminal would go through such advanced security protocols if they weren't answering to someone else. _ The glaring differences between the new blaster rifles they were using to tear holes in Obi-Wan's flesh and the decrepit ruins of the rest of the compound had initially raised some doubts.

Earlier that day, he had entertained the thought that they had stolen an arms shipment, but he hadn’t been able to confirm anything before Anakin had tripped the proximity alarms on Block 6. A tall Trandoshan captain had droned on and on about the benefits of deploying their latest hunter-killer droids to the northern ranges of the TR-4 moon in order to secure one of the Republic's iridium refineries. A bold target for a small group of smugglers in his opinion, and he wondered why they would even want iridium. His thoughts had been interrupted by the shrill cry of alarms and he internally winced.  _ Blast it, Anakin. You've got to be more careful. _

The smugglers had charged their weapons, securing all the doorways to their location.

"Looks like we've got an intruder, boys. Let's see if we can smoke him out."

Obi-Wan had felt Anakin before he saw him; a glowing beacon of apologetic resilience in the Force. They didn’t get the intel they needed, and it hadn’t been easy to get out of the dark metal underbelly of the facility with only pistols. He had put the Force into a kick that sent one of the smugglers flying into a control panel, using the distraction of blowing his cover as an excuse to high-tail it out of the room. The captain had followed, searing Obi-Wan’s shoulder with a laser bolt. More smugglers had leaked out of the surrounding rooms as he sprinted through the hallways in search of an exit.

One fist-fight and a concussion later, he had found Anakin in a stairwell, no worse for wear, it seemed. He didn’t have time to let the multitude of dead smugglers around his former padawan concern him, but it seemed as if Anakin hadn’t been gentle with his blaster.

Now outside and covered by the metal droid’s thick body, he peeks around the side to see the same thick-skinned captain with an assault rifle blaster cradled in his arms. The flesh on his side is exposed; a side effect of challenging Anakin to a fire-fight near some fuel tanks. He bites back a swell of joy from the vengeance on the Trandoshan, resolving to remain cold toward the whole affair. The warmth of his own blood leaking from his wounded leg forces him to swallow back a wince. Obi-Wan has more pressing issues than payback.

“Find anything with enough power to get us out of here?” Obi-Wan calls behind him as two faces peek over a metal transport box to send a flurry of fire toward him. “I’ve grown tired of this exchange we’re having.” He sighs, refusing to even take the time to line up their foreheads in the iron sights before he picks them both off.

“Give me a second,” he hears Anakin yell. The man looks like a proper mechanic in his plainclothes, currently underneath a beaten old speeder that was putting up a fight against his ministrations. It was a good thing Anakin could feel his way around fifteen year old power converters, a skill from years spent tinkering on Tatooine.

“Master! It’s on, let’s get out of here!”

Anakin throws himself into the driver’s seat, whipping it in front of Obi-Wan as he sends one last bolt toward the enemy. “I hope the destination you have in mind doesn’t require going backward or braking of any kind. ” The younger man chuckles, taking off for the exit. It earns him a raised eyebrow as Obi-Wan takes the guards out with a well-timed shot to a canister of compressed air.

“I’m not certain you know how to use the brakes anyway, Anakin.”

They meet each other’s gazes and smile, relishing in the hot breeze that blows as they leave the smugglers’ base behind them. Obi-Wan lets out a sigh when he sees that their enemies have decided not to pursue them, then starts to dig around for a medkit in the compartments of their speeder.

***

They’ve been riding in the speeder for two hours when Obi-Wan’s head starts to list to the side. He reaches out with both hands to grab at anything that will stop the spinning, the colors of the dusty brown world melting with the evening reds and purples of the sky as he loses consciousness. “Ana—” his lips refuse to form around the name.

“Master, hey—” Anakin turns to watch as Obi-Wan pales and slumps over in the seat beside him. “Master?”

He reaches over to feel for the man’s pulse. Faint, but still present. Anakin lets his hand rest on Obi-Wan’s wrist, keeping track of his heartbeat while he pilots the speeder with the other.

When they had been briefed on Taris, Obi-Wan and Anakin had poured over some of the text relevant to Bar Neth’s history. Apparently, the planet is famous for its tourism. By the looks of it, they had only meant the capital of Seles, because Anakin is currently surrounded by reddish sand that covered the flat terrain for as far as he can see, up until the towering mesas. He can’t imagine how they’d gotten any of the agricultural colonies built on this wasteland. It reminds him of Tatooine in the worst way and a pit of guilt roils in his stomach. With a roll of his shoulders, he releases what he can to the Force.

When he passes the first patches of grass, he knows he’s getting close to something. The five suns of Bar Neth have just vanished over the horizon, leaving the world a deepened orange. Scraggly shrubs begin to crop up in the rising sides of the rocky land as it merges with the mesa. He has to admit, he’s been driving faster than Obi-Wan would have liked. It’s a good thing he isn’t awake to complain. Anakin focuses back on Obi-Wan’s wrist and waits, counting the heartbeats until he’s satisfied that Obi-Wan isn’t going into shock. But he continues to hold on as the red rocks give way to a gravelly path, just in case.

Anakin can see the outlines of small buildings ahead and the frown on his lips starts to melt away slowly. “Finally, a place to rest.”

***

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan wakes with a scream, gasping as he takes in the darkness of stained wood. He is laying underneath a table. No, a desk? He blinks a couple times, turning his head to the right to find Anakin seated beside his prone body. 

There is warmth radiating off of him, almost to the point of pain. Obi-Wan squeezes his eyes shut as the awareness of his injuries comes flooding back. The blow to the back of his head from the stock of a heavy blaster rifle aches. The blaster burns on his arms and back are blistering more with each second, as if the heat is still melting his skin. The shard of wooden crate that is still lodged in his leg is a relentless stabbing pain. He can’t bear to move his leg at all; the slightest twitch of his toes makes him want to scream. Despite this, he tries to sit up and finds that his head hasn’t stopped spinning.

“You know, I almost feel bad saying this, but it was easier when you were passed out. Could you just—” He feels a hand press to his forehead, lulling him back toward the peaceful emptiness.

“Where are we?” He feels himself say, rather than hears. He’s not sure why he said it. He won’t be able to hear the answer. His eyelids are getting rather heavy as Anakin’s force suggestion takes hold.

“You’re safe,” Anakin whispers to him, sending waves of sleep and comfort into the remaining threads of their Force bond. “Just be quiet for a little longer.”

***

Obi-Wan finally gives into his suggestion and blacks out. Anakin closes his eyes once more, letting the energy of the dirt and aged beams of wood be offered to him so he can stay awake a little longer. It isn’t often that he gets to flex his mental muscles—being the Chosen One and all—but something about doing medical care without Kix to help just takes it out of him. 

He grimaces as he cleans the wound on Obi-Wan’s leg with antiseptic spray and disposable pads of gauze. He can sense the nerves crying out, falling on deaf ears as he prepares to patch up the damaged tissue.

Beside him lay the fragment of blood-coated crate and a medkit the size of a datapad. The bacta and bandages will save them from a trip to a medcenter, assuming the wound doesn’t get infected. There isn’t much he can do out here in the desert with a travel-size medkit, but he refuses to let his master suffer if he can help it. If it hadn't been for Obi-Wan, he would be nursing his own wounds as well as this one. The man is always putting his life on the line for him.  _ So very Jedi-like. _ He snorts, reaching his hand into the kit to retrieve a sterile suture packet.  _ Seems to me like he still sees me as a Padawan sometimes, like he has to protect me.  _ He rips open the top of the packet and begins to stitch the wound closed.

After bandaging the rest of Obi-Wan’s visible wounds, Anakin strips off his leather jacket and folds it up, forming a pillow to rest his head on as he lays himself down beside Obi-Wan. When the older man’s imposed sleep wears off, he is sure to get an earful of lectures about recklessness and ruining covert operations, but for now, he can allow himself a moment of peace. The suns had long since set, leaving the small town steeped in darkness. The cantina had seemed like a good place to make camp. It even had a small shack to store the speeder from any prying eyes that would pass through on their way to Seles.

Anakin knows he will have to look for something to eat in the morning. They are in for a long journey back to the capital. Arriving with sallow cheeks and tattered clothes will earn them a lot of stares. At least he can try to keep them from looking starved.

He rolls onto his side to stare at Obi-Wan, the light of an old lantern casting a gentle orange glow on the man’s face. He looks younger when he’s sleeping; less like a master and more like the man that shared citrus flavored ice treats with him in the Temple cafeteria after a long day of lightsaber training. He can’t help letting a soft smile tug at the corner of his lip at the sight of Obi-Wan getting restful sleep for once. Although he never admitted it out loud, Anakin knows his former master meditates instead of sleeping most nights to avoid the nightmares. If anyone understands the terror of dreams, it is Anakin.

_ Let tonight be one of the dreamless nights for both of us. _

  
  



	2. Expected This, I Should Have

Obi-Wan blinks slowly, letting the cobwebs of forced sleep be swept away from his mind. He remembers the dizzying swirl of the room when he tried to sit up last time, so he decides to let his head twist slowly to the right in hopes of figuring out where Anakin had decided to hole up for the night without risking sudden nausea.

There’s a pillar on this side of the room and everything seems to be made out of the same cracked dull wood. If he lets his eyes focus farther away, he can see the morning sunlight beginning to peek through a window, glinting off a collection of dusty glasses and bottles. A mirror reflects the light, highlighting the cloud of dust that hangs in the air. Obi-Wan wrinkles his nose and wishes for an instant to be back on Coruscant.

As he looks down to the floor, he finds himself face to face with Anakin. A burnt out lantern sits beside his head, conjuring up the image of the man sitting at his side, taking care of him late into the night. Despite the aches and pains, he rolls onto his side and allows himself to take in the sight that is Anakin Skywalker.

It isn’t often that someone can subdue Obi-Wan enough to patch his wounds against his will, but if it has to be anyone, he is glad it is Anakin. Obi-Wan smiles at the thought. 

Anakin’s eyes flutter open, greeting Obi-Wan with a sleepy grin of his own.

“Get a good night’s rest, old man?” His voice is raspy and he reaches out to place a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan can feel the way Anakin prods at the Force, taking stock of the wounds he spent all night working on.

“Don’t bring my age into this, Anakin,” he huffs, but allows the man to continue his examination. “I’m sure I could have received a few less blaster burns if you’d been more delicate with your electrical work.”

Anakin scoffs, pulling his hand away gently. “You didn’t see those kriffing circuits, master. It was disgusting. I could have wired them better in my sleep at the age of two. I had to untangle the—” Obi-Wan blinks slowly, trying his best to listen as Anakin rants about the state of the smugglers’ sensor panels. Anakin is taking his jibes too seriously again.

Anakin is mid-way through explaining how he’d overridden the laser’s fail-safe when Obi-Wan reaches up to ruffle his curls. The man pauses, frowning as his hair is mussed like he’s a child again. _ Once a padawan, always a padawan. _ He bats away Obi-Wan’s hand, trying to ignore the fondness that no doubt is written all over Obi-Wan’s face.

“What’s gotten into you?” Anakin snorts, raising an eyebrow. “Did you think you were going to die or something?”

“If it wasn’t from the giant puncture wound in my leg, it might have been from the way you were tearing across the desert in that speeder,” Obi-Wan replies, daring to raise up to a sitting position. The world doesn’t spin as much as it did yesterday, but he could use sustenance of some sort, he notices.

“How would you know?” Anakin challenges, although the way his mouth is twitching with a smirk that gives away his attempt to bristle his old master. “You were passed out for half of it.”

“Blood loss will do that to a man,” he chuckles, tucking his legs up underneath himself to assume a meditation pose. He closes his eyes and reaches out to the Force for the first time today, feeling the room, the building, the small town they were borrowing.

Anakin is handing him a can of  _ pta _ fruit a few minutes later, settling down beside him on the wooden floor. It is unnervingly comfortable underneath the slight cover of the bar. Obi-Wan had gleaned enough from his meditation to learn that they were in an abandoned cantina. It seemed as if no one had set foot in the building or the entire town for at least a year.

“We’re lucky they decided to pack up without taking all of the food,” Obi-Wan says softly, but the cans trouble him. “The villagers must have had to leave without warning for them to abandon resources in a place like this.”

Obi-Wan lifts the can to his mouth and relishes the sweet taste of expired canned fruit. Anakin has found his own can of food to pick at, choosing not to respond to Obi-Wan’s ponderings. His brows start to furrow as he pushes at a brown flaky meat, daring to sniff at it after a moment.

“Would you like my fruit, Anakin?”

The man’s head whips around to look at him. “Is meat supposed to be this color?”

“Do you know what it is?” Obi-Wan asks, dipping his fingers into the juice to grab some of his soft green fruit.

“Uh—” Anakin spins the can, looking for anything that resembles Basic script—“I can’t read Nethian. So I have no idea.”

“Why can’t you, Anakin? It can’t be that hard to decipher,” Obi-Wan quips, levitating the can out of Anakin’s hands and into his own. He looks over the label himself, taking his time.

“Well?” The young man scoots closer to Obi-Wan, looking over his shoulder as if it will show him the perspective he needs to understand. Obi-Wan is still turning the can in his hands slowly and stroking his beard. “Well?” Anakin repeats.

Obi-Wan looks at him out of the corner of his eye and fails to suppress the rumbling laugh that bubbles out of his mouth.

“You don’t know either!” Anakin snatches the can back. “Blast it, Obi-Wan.”

He’s laughing even harder.  _ How will we get back to the city _ , he thinks to himself as he brushes their shoulders together.

“Have some of mine,” he offers as he sets the can of pta fruit on the man’s knee. Anakin doesn’t hesitate to pluck one of the fruit pieces out and scarf it down. They take turns sipping the juice as the second sun takes to the sky.

***

Once the third of five suns has crossed the horizon, Anakin helps Obi-Wan to his feet and they head out to the speeder.

“Do we know where we’re going?” He questions as Anakin shuts the decaying doors of the storage shack. “Seles should be toward the northern portion of this landmass, if I remember correctly.”

“We’re about halfway there.” Anakin climbs into the speeder and revs the engine.

“Now, Anakin, we need to conserve battery power if we’re going to make it all the way to the city. If you’re accelerating unnecessarily, we’re certain to be walking the last few kilometers on foot.”

“Yes, Master.”

Obi-Wan is blown back into his seat by the force of their departure. The surrounding wooden cabins of the unnamed town become brown blurs in his peripheral vision and his fingers dig into the cracked armrests of the speeder’s seat.

“Anakin!”

“Yes, Master?”

“Remind me when we get back to Coruscant that I need to put an end to pod-racing so that future generations won’t have your desires for thrills.”

“It’s not that bad, Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, it is. Slow down.”

“I respectfully decline.”

“Anakin.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin laughs, wiggling the steering rods back and forth.

“Sith hells, Anakin. I will open the door and let myself fall out of this vehicle if you don’t mind yourself.”

Anakin slows the speeder considerably, huffing in defeat. “What happened to Happy Obi-Wan back at the cantina?”

“I’m convinced you drugged me back there.”

“Or maybe you just had a decent amount of sleep for once,” Anakin suggests softly, leaving the vestiges of their bickering in the trail of dust kicked up by the speeder. They meet each other’s gazes and Obi-Wan’s shields start to form up around himself. Anakin rolls his eyes with a look that says, _ Knock it off, _ but accepts that the discussion is over and focuses instead on the road in front of them. Hopefully Yoda will have some decent identities lined up for them this time around. The warehouse full of smugglers with seventh edition DL-51 blaster rifles and thermal detonators had only left him with more questions.

***

“News you bring, Skywalker?” Yoda’s transmission flashes into view. “Not long has it been since you arrived on Bar Neth.”

“Yes, Master Yoda.” Anakin leans forward, hoping to block the holo from the prying eyes around the Lower Seles Terminal. Much to their dismay, they had arrived in the outskirts of Bar Neth’s capital at the same time as a train carrying hundreds of workers. Judging from the coating of black soot on their clothes and skin, they seem to be on their way home from the industrial sector of Lower Seles. So much for being inconspicuous.

Obi-Wan rests up against the transparisteel sides of the comm box, nursing one of the blaster burns on his arm. Anakin had used the last of his Nethian coins to buy them time at the public terminal’s holocomm, and he may have performed some minor adjustments to the outbound transmission signature in order to get it off Bar Neth without being monitored. It wasn’t every day that he was thwarting the Republic’s security systems, but if this mission had brought anything to light, it was the ability of the Outer Rim planets to fall into the wrong hands.

“It appears as if the smugglers are being funded by an outside source,” Anakin says, hoping to skip the part where they barely escaped with their lives.

“More information you will need, to solve this mystery,” Yoda hums, looking to his side. “And tell me you will, why you are not contacting me from your personal communicator?”

Anakin holds Yoda’s gaze. “I thought it would compromise our cover, so I dismantled it once we arrived on the planet.”

“What he means is, ‘I dropped it in the basement of the smugglers’ warehouse after I set off every proximity alarm in the facility and left my master for dead,’” Obi-Wan chimes in, leaning over Anakin’s shoulder. 

“And what about yours?” Anakin counters, pulling his shoulder out from underneath Obi-Wan’s arm.

“Most likely blasted to bits when I saved you from that detonator explosion,” Obi-Wan huffs, but follows it with a smirk as he bends down closer to the holocomm. “Master Yoda, we’re in need of some new identities, I’m afraid.”

“Expected this, I should have.”

Yoda disappears, leaving the connection open. Anakin takes a hand and drags it down his face, giving Obi-Wan a side-eyed glance. Obi-Wan grins.

“Oh Anakin, we would have had to ask him eventually anyway.” He points a finger toward the ever-counting timer in the lower left hand corner of the screen behind the empty holo. “We only have five more minutes before I have to go scrounging for loose change in the streets.”

“Master Yoda, we—uh, need to be on our way now,” he calls out, hoping to draw the old master back into frame.

It’s another two minutes before Yoda finally returns, a small smirk on his face. “Have new identities for you both, I do.”

“Wonderful, Master. We will be returning — ”

“Obi-Wan, are you familiar with Sib Mihail?”

“The botanist?”

Yoda gives a small nod. “A leader in his field. Become him, you must.”

“And what about Anakin?”

Yoda is still wearing a smirk, which frankly sets Obi-Wan on edge. “I will send a messenger with the remaining details. To this address, you two must go.”

Yoda gives them a set of coordinates and bids them farewell. Anakin raises an eyebrow once the holo has disappeared. A long-necked Rakartian is already behind them, sending empty threats with a slurred attempt at Basic. Obi-Wan watches as his former Padawan bites his lip to hold back a response he knows would have been seething. Ever since they’d reached Seles, Anakin had been a coiled ball of energy. The Force roiled within him and around him, forcing Obi-Wan to shield himself from their bond during the search for a suitable holo terminal. Anakin isn’t meeting his eyes when they leave the station, and the trend continues once they find their speeder has been stolen from the litter-strewn lot outside the main entrance.

Lower Seles still contains the remnants of the planet’s desert roots; void of any green except the occasional passing Rodian. Patchwork awnings cover the doors to dilapidated taverns and shops with broken windows. The sun beats down on the cracking ferrocrete beneath their feet as the two men make their way toward the location Yoda had given them. Anakin kicks at a rock, sending it unnaturally far for a human. Obi-Wan itches to ask what is on the man’s mind, but the way he sighs every other breath tells him that now isn’t the best time to pick at Anakin’s mind.

As soon as they step into the shade of the small hotel’s entryway, Obi-Wan laughs. An elderly lady is manning the check-in desk and a small creature eerily similar to a falcon without feathers is pecking at the grey hairs piled atop her head. He stands back and admires the menagerie of figurines and carved medallions that line the wooden cases against the walls. She had to be a collector of some sort, he thinks as his eyes are drawn to a piece toward the back of a shelf. A poor replica of the ancient Korriban testaments gives Obi-Wan cause to raise an eyebrow. Much to his dismay, Anakin has already procured the keys to a room and beckons him with a tug on their bond.

Anakin is already turning and heading up the stairs when Obi-Wan follows, nodding to the lady as he passes. She blinks and returns to her work. However Yoda had found this place, it was certainly one of a kind. He hopes it has more than rickety floorboards for beds, and he isn’t wrong, although it’s not much more.

***

Anakin turns the handle on the faucet of the refresher only to find that it drips no more than a sip of water before it peters out. He slams his hand against the lightswitch, leaving the disappointing sink in darkness. He knows he cracked it seconds before he even touches it, but he can’t bring himself to rein in his strength. There was a cloud of something that hung over the hovels of Lower Seles, and although he can’t quite place it yet, it pulses through his veins. 

Obi-Wan seems unaffected, if only slightly perturbed by Anakin’s attitude.

He lets his body fall onto the bed in a spineless fashion. The springs of the mattress whine against his weight.  _ Typical. _

“We don’t have water, Obi-Wan. The sand—it’s everywhere.”

Obi-Wan is standing in the doorway, resting his head against the trim. “You’re not telling me you’ve been in this mood because of the sand, are you?”

“Maybe,” he admits, although it wasn’t the only thing on his mind. “Don’t you feel it though? It’s just—” he gives up trying to describe the ill-defined fog that presses against his mind.

“Do I feel the sand?” Obi-Wan chuckles, brushing some of it from his hair for good measure. “Of course.”

Anakin finally looks at him since they left the holo terminal, his expression cold despite the warmth that pours off Obi-Wan.

“If you’re talking about this place,” Obi-Wan continues, gesturing toward the room. “Yes, I feel it too. We’re getting ourselves into trouble again, I fear.” He takes a seat beside Anakin, looking down at him through sweat-crusted tangles of auburn hair.

Obi-Wan undresses slowly, taking care to avoid the crusting scabs on his shoulders from the blaster burns. He finds Anakin behind him, lifting the woven shirt from his grasp before he can continue to struggle. His chin drops to his chest, letting Anakin’s hands hover over his bare back. The younger man starts applying a thin layer of bacta from a packet he’d stashed in his pocket before they’d left the abandoned cantina.  _ Thank the Force he didn’t leave it in the speeder.  _ The bacta is cool against his skin, just cold enough to force his eyes shut and suppress a wince. He can feel the way it begins to numb the burned areas and lets out a soft sigh, only now realizing how much pain he’d been ignoring all day.

“I couldn’t get to them yesterday when you were lying down,” he hears Anakin mutter. Obi-Wan decides to keep his lips pressed shut, but allows himself to feel at their bond. It quivers with Anakin’s concern; his frustrations about something Obi-Wan can’t see. He responds with unabashed gratitude and reassurance before he feels Anakin’s hands drift away from his skin. 

With his burns now tended to, Obi-Wan watches Anakin strip off his leather jacket and boots, as well as his tattered shirt. He’s underneath the flimsi-thin sheet quickly. Obi-Wan remains at the end of the bed, drifting into a shallow meditative state. He lifts a finger to flick off the lamp beside the bed and leaves his mind to reach out unhindered to the Force.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed before a foot prods at his backside.  _ Probably kicking in his sleep again. _ Obi-Wan almost misses the accompanying words that pass through the space between them.

“It’s late. Come to bed.”

He doesn’t move. It had been almost sufficient while he was meditating. He wouldn’t have needed to sleep at all.

“I refuse to put you in a trance again,” Anakin says softly. “I can't sleep either, but at least I'm trying.”

He tips his head slightly, but from what he can see by the faint glow of the streetlamp outside the tiny window of their room, Anakin’s eyes are still closed. Obi-Wan hesitates, eyes lingering on the empty space beside Anakin and the terrors it promises to bring. He finds himself twirling a loose thread in his fingers to keep his hands from shaking.

“Don’t be stupid. You can’t look like death tomorrow when we’re pretending to be people that  _ weren’t _ the focus of a smuggler’s blaster fire.” Anakin’s voice bites into the darkness.

It’s enough to rouse Obi-Wan from his seat on the edge of the bed. He climbs onto his side, but not before sending his pillow to smack Anakin on the head. Anakin’s eyes open in surprise and shoot him a glare that softens once he realizes that he has won this particular battle.

They lie in silence for a few minutes, although they can feel each other’s presences refusing to soften with sleep.

“So, a botanist.”

“I thought you wanted me to go to sleep, Anakin.”

“Well it doesn’t seem like it’s happening anytime soon—” his voice cracks softly as he rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling—“and I know you don’t sleep most nights.”

“We’re not having this discussion right now,” Obi-Wan huffs, still on his side, gazing out the window into the night.

“I could help.”

“Anakin,” his voice wavers. “Not right now.”

“Master.”

“It’s just the same things we all have nightmares about, Anakin. People dying. Explosions. Pain that never ends. We’re in the middle of a war. It’s to be expected that we will sustain mental and emotional damage as a cost of victory.” 

Anakin is silent then.

  
  



	3. Business Partners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am tired, so I offer up this humble piece of repurposed pie for all of you. Things in real life have been hard lately. The Team keeps me going.

In the morning, a Zygerrian woman raps softly on their bedroom door and Anakin has to swallow back the bile that rises in his throat. Memories of electrowhips and his Padawan locked in a cage come to mind and although the day has barely begun, his blood is already threatening to boil. He stands in nothing but a worn out pair of pants, the door open just far enough to ensure that she can see his look of utter disgust.

“We’ll be with you in a moment,” he says, his voice curt. He turns to look at Obi-Wan, still wrapped up in the measly brown sheet and hovering on the edge of wakefulness. _It is too early for this._ He shuts the door in her face.

His feet barely make a sound as he walks over to crouch down beside the bed.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispers. “Master, wake up.”

A pair of blue eyes greet him in an instant with a pair of furrowed brows to match. A soft groan escapes the man as he rolls onto his back. “That time already?”

Anakin takes a glance out the window behind him to find a sky barely tinted with blues and oranges. The first of the suns was on its way up and they had only been asleep for a few hours. He can still feel the muscles in his neck protesting against movement as he turns back to look at his tousled companion. Anakin stands to make his way over to the corner where he threw his leather jacket last night in a moment of emotional weakness. He still feels an oppressive fear creeping into the otherwise peaceful darkness of Lower Seles at dawn. Shrugging on his jacket, he looks to grab Obi-Wan’s clothing but there isn’t anything left.

“You slept in your clothes again?”

Obi-Wan chuckles softly, running his hands down the wrinkled and scorched front of his once-white cotton shirt. “Looks like it.”

“Please tell me you took your boots off,” Anakin huffs, sitting down on the uneven floor to strap his own boots back on. He looks back to see Obi-Wan holding up his own pair, giving him a raised eyebrow. “Oh thank the Force. Sometimes I just don’t get how you can sleep like that. It’s so—” he gestures with his hands, unable to find the word he wants.

“Convenient?”

“Constricting,” he settles on a word, tugging at the last strap on his boot. “Must be a Temple youngling thing.”

They meet the Zygerrian woman, whom he learns is named Galira, in the entryway on the ground floor. She’s a local on Bar Neth; a friend of the Jedi and a confidential contact within the Bar Nethian government. Galira guides them out to a black hard-top speeder that seems incredibly out-of-place in the derelict streets of Lower Seles; although fast, if its model number is any indication. Anakin bristles at the thought of Yoda knowingly putting them in such a run-down inn when Obi-Wan had been so injured, but allows the feeling to wither away as they ride at top speed through the dusty city.

Galira’s eyes track across the road as she drives, gesturing with one clawed hand about Yoda’s decision to request her expertise for their new assignment. Both men nod, familiar with the need for assistance when so far away from the Temple on Coruscant. It came in handy to have allies in the Outer Rim and Galira was no exception.

Anakin drags a fingernail across the back of his hand and it comes away with a thick layer of silt, ash, and dried blood. He can feel Obi-Wan watching him; can feel the way he winces inwardly at the way his stiff clothes brush against his wounds. It seems as if they’ll get a chance to access proper medical supplies when they arrive at their destination, but until then, Anakin sends a gentle tug of encouragement through their bond. It is the least he can do after Obi-Wan had acquiesced into getting some sleep, if only for a few hours.

Obi-Wan blinks and turns away, hiding his smile with a well-timed stroke of his beard.

Anakin feels the beginnings of a joke on his tongue, but Galira has stopped talking, so the quiet hum of the speeder is the only sound amidst an otherwise peaceful journey. It almost feels too surreal to break for a poorly timed jab at his old master. He settles on leaning his head against the window, watching the rows of identical apartment towers go by as they make their way north. Eventually, the sky gives way to oranges and yellows and the sandblasted hovels are replaced by astutely carved stone archways and ornate dwellings that seem to sprawl in every direction.

Anakin catches a glimpse of one of the high-speed trains as it glides by on a track that rises above many of the towers around them.

“The architecture of the bridge resembles that of the aqueducts on Jedha, don’t you think, Anakin?”

He huffs through his nose. “No way. Definitely more like the ones on Tipho Seven. The masonry is what gives it away.”

“When did you ever get over to that part of the galaxy?” Obi-Wan scoffs, twisting away from the window to give Anakin a pointed look.

“Didn’t have to. It’s obvious. We learned about it in our classes on ancient civilizations of the Outer Rim, Master.” He lingers on the honorific.

He hears Galira chuckle from the front seat. “The young man is right, I’m afraid. The architects that designed Upper Seles were infatuated with the stone carvings of Tipho Seven, as well as the art of balancing city structures with nature, an idea I believe they got from Naboo.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t look over to see the absolute victory that is written on Anakin’s face, but he knows the man can sense it.

As the speeder slows its approach, a fountain comes into view and reminds Anakin of just how little they’ve had to drink in the past forty-eight standard hours. The water that spewed from the sculpted center of the fountain is a thoughtless extravagance when the outskirts of Seles remind him so much of Tatooine. His throat is parched nonetheless. He thinks that the people of Lower Seles could use some of the water that their northern neighbors are so carelessly flaunting.

Anakin can still remember the way the sands of his homeworld would suck every last drop of moisture out of a being’s body if they weren’t careful. It is like that here too. The memories start to boil up inside him and he doesn’t notice Obi-Wan is resting a hand on his shoulder. He finally responds when the man is prodding at his shields out of concern. Anakin slides out of the speeder and mutters an empty apology as he follows Galira into the high-rise building that overlooks the borough center.

***

“So, who is this Silas guy anyway?” Anakin asks from the bathtub. Galira had given them the morning to clean themselves up and get acquainted with their new identities. Obi-Wan splits his attention between trimming his beard in the mirror and scrolling through the datapad of information Yoda had compiled for them. 

“A botanist from Dubrillion. Currently stationed on Coruscant doing research concerning the life cycle of the Benent tree.”

“Never heard of it,” he watches as Anakin scrubs at his arms with a synthwoven sponge. “What’s a Benent tree anyway?”

Obi-Wan wants to know the very same thing, which leads him to continue his skim over the past literature on the obscure plant species. 

“It says here that it is endemic to the planet of Devaron and is rumored to have some form of sentience.” His eyes land on a picture and from what he can tell, it looks exactly like any other tree. “It’s curious. It doesn’t strike me as particularly alive.”

He turns to show Anakin the datapad and is met with the sight of his former Padawan, dripping wet and without an ounce of modesty about his body.

“For Force’s sake, Anakin. Warn a man when you’re going to get out of the bath,” Obi-Wan hisses, holding up the datapad to shield his eyes.

“Oh hush, like you’ve never seen my bare ass before, Obi-Wan.”

A few minutes later, Obi-Wan finds himself without the top of his robe, his arms raised to allow Anakin to get a closer look at the blaster burn on his ribcage. He sighs, his only comfort the fact that Anakin has a towel wrapped around his waist now. His fingers tingle from being elevated for such a long time, but Anakin is delicately applying a bandage over the salve-covered burn and the least he can do is stand still. Obi-Wan doesn’t let it slip that he’s in pain until Anakin’s fingers ghost over the sealed cut on his calf. Anakin’s eyes flash up to meet his own, a grimace of regret flashing across his face.

When Anakin finally pulls away, seemingly satisfied with his work, Obi-Wan turns in the mirror and winces, studying the patchwork of bacta bandages across his back.

“Let’s try not to get ourselves in the middle of a firefight this time,” he says as he shrugs his robe back on.

Anakin is placing a thin bandage across a burn on his left arm as he sighs. “Can’t remember a time when we haven’t.” He turns to raise an eyebrow at Obi-Wan, smirking. “And you like the excitement anyway.”

***

“You never told me your new name,” Obi-Wan mentions over a cup of tea and a plate of fruit-speckled biscuits Galira had so graciously provided. “Are you a fellow scientist of some sort?”

Anakin fiddles with the pair of gold-rimmed glasses he’d found among the selection of accessories in the Zygerrian’s closet. “The name’s Déon Anastas. Top of my class at one of those expensive Coruscanti universities, with a penchant for designing machinery. Looks like Yoda wasn’t confident in my covert operation skills after the whole smuggler thing. The guy sounds just like me.”

“Are you really going to wear those glasses?” Obi-Wan is raising an eyebrow at him as if it is a far-fetched idea. The roundness of the frames plays well against his sharp features, if he dares to say so himself. “And stop staring at yourself on every reflective surface,” Obi-Wan swats at his hand. “Vanity is not a good trait for a Jedi.”

“Good thing we’re not playing Jedi,” Anakin chides. “I’m the apprentice of the man who designed the automated machines in the agricultural refineries, by the way. Not as cool as your botany gig—” he laughs—“but close.”

“I think it was a decent bet to make me a life-scientist. Qui-Gon taught me a thing or two about the plants we came across on our otherwise boring missions of diplomacy.”

“Was that before or after you incited a rebel uprising?”

Obi-Wan picks off a piece of one of the biscuits and bites down softly as he looks off into the corner of the room in thought.

“After, if I recall correctly. Seems as if my master was searching for hobbies I could take up that wouldn’t lead to my involvement in planetary disputes.”

Anakin snorts, shaking his head and grabbing a biscuit for himself. “How do those identities explain why we’re showing up in Upper Seles together, though?” He scratches his head as he scrolls through his own collection of empirical data analyses of a variety of alloys. “I don’t see it, honestly.”

“‘Business partners?’ Obi-Wan suggests, crossing his legs while he takes a sip of his tea. Yoda seems to have left that part up to us.”

“Master Jedi.” Galira returns into the small circular room they were seated in. “I’m afraid we’ll have to be on our way soon. I made a few alterations to your current ship’s landing permit so that you are free to leave at any time while disguised. There should be no traces of your actual identities left in our records.” She reaches into the pouch at her side and reveals Anakin’s lightsaber. “I believe this belongs to you, Knight Skywalker.”

He takes it from her quickly, but the suspicion that shows on his face is enough for Galira to speak once more.

“Your droid insisted that I give these to you, once Master Yoda and I informed him that he cannot leave the spaceport.”

Anakin releases a sigh of relief. Of course R2 is alright; hasn’t fallen into enemy hands or gotten himself into trouble. Obi-Wan receives his lightsaber as well. The two men roll the familiar metal hilts in their hands before tucking them into the pouches designed to press them close to their rib cages, invisible to detectors that searched for metal or radiation from power crystals. It is a slight discomfort to have his lightsaber digging into his skin when he bends over, but after fighting with only a blaster, Anakin is thankful for its presence.

Galira begins to draw the silk curtains to hide their room from the glaring quintet suns outside. 

“Are you acquainted with the roles you will be assuming?” She asks, the way she glides across the room reminding Anakin of the Zygerrian queen that had held them against their will. 

He feels the way his stomach twists at the thought of not only the slavers, but of Ahsoka. Obi-Wan’s fingers twitch in response to the sudden disturbance in the Force and tries to meet Anakin’s gaze, but he directs his discomfort toward the floor. Anakin knows he shouldn’t still have a gaping hole where his Padawan should be; it isn’t the Jedi way to linger, to grieve. At some point, he is going to have to deal with the betrayal that continued to fester in his mind.

Now is not the time. His mind and Obi-Wan’s gaze echo the same warning.

“Humor me for a moment, if you will, Galira,” he hears Obi-Wan begin. “How are the two of us supposed to have gotten acquainted? Is it a known fact or have we just met on the journey to Bar Neth?”

Galira’s ears perk up with amusement and she brings a hand up to hide the giggle that spills from her lips. “Maybe this will clear up some of the mystery.” She hands Obi-Wan a folded piece of rigid flimsiplast. Anakin can’t read the contents, but the detailed design of embossed golden leaves captures his interest. Obi-Wan’s brow is furrowed and he offers the card to Anakin dismissively.

“I’m afraid that I’m still at a loss.” His master has uncrossed his legs, settling both feet on the floor and leaning his elbows onto the table between the rounded stools they’d seated themselves on.

_Distinguished Dr. Silas Mergani,_

_You have been cordially invited to tour the state-of-the-art facilities of Bar Neth’s Institute for Agricultural Discovery and its adjacent manufacturing plants. Exceptional growth in our exportation of goods to the surrounding systems of the Outer Rim has given us the opportunity to expand our reach to new planets in need. As a contributor to the success of the Republic’s terraformation of Seles and surrounding colonies, we are honored to host you as well as any guest of your choice. In celebration of the full moon, a gala for yourself and other dignified galactic leaders is to be held at the Taman Emas Hotel. Please allow us to provide you with accommodations at Taman Emas for the duration of your stay._

_We hope you will consider our offer to join us for such a spectacular event._

_-Tmela Avos_

Anakin has to agree. Although he knows they will be going on a tour of the facilities here on Bar Neth to investigate leads on the wealthy funders of the smuggling operation they’d crashed, he doesn’t see anything that would indicate the nature of the relationship between Silas and Déon. He tosses the invitation into the center of the table with a huff.

Galira is still struggling to reign in her amusement at the whole situation and Anakin can feel the annoyance begin to roll off of him in waves.

“In this case, Silas, your reputation has preceded you. Within the scientific community, you’re known to be quite licentious.”

Obi-Wan chokes on his tea. “I beg your pardon?”

“If I’m not mistaken, Master Kenobi, Knight Skywalker is supposed to be,” she trails off, looking at both of them. Her uncomfort is given away by the twitching of her whiskers. She lets out a small cough before saying, ”Your plus-one?”

Obi-Wan lets out a groan, letting his face fall into his hands. Anakin just snorts.

He can feel Obi-Wan’s disdain at the entire situation and nudges him with his elbow. “We could still be business partners.”

“You think so?” Obi-Wan deadpans, still shaking his head. “I cannot believe Master Yoda thought this would be a good idea.”

***

Light-years away, Yoda is falling out of his evening meditation to laugh softly to himself.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh things just got ten times more awkward. Troublesome scientists and a mysterious hotel? The situations these two get into. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I appreciate every kudos and comment. It keeps me in good spirits.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I have no idea who will read this, but I hope if you're new to this story, I hope you're intrigued. And if you're familiar with it already, there's nothing too different about this one, but the butterfly effect of the edits will start soon.
> 
> My goal is to have this story stand on its own as a mystery/adventure! Let me know what you think, and join me on Tumblr at [kenobiapologist](https://kenobiapologist.tumblr.com) to chat about our boys Obi-Wan and Anakin, because I do love them very very much.


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